


Wishing Out The Days

by GotTheSilver



Series: Supernatural Codas [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Episode Related, Episode Tag, Episode: s11e19 The Chitters, M/M, Season/Series 11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 02:34:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6685747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GotTheSilver/pseuds/GotTheSilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>post 11.19.</p><p>*<br/><i>Straightening up, Dean rubs his eyes with his palms, regretting it when dirt from the mine scratches against his skin.  “I can’t sleep,” he says quietly, a confession that he’s not sure he wants Sam to hear.  “If I sleep all I see is—”</i></p><p>
  <i>“Cas.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Yeah.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wishing Out The Days

**Author's Note:**

> title from Pearl Jam - Come Back
> 
> also on [tumblr](http://motleywolf.tumblr.com/post/143541879767/1119-coda-wishing-out-the-days).

Dean doesn’t put up a fight when Sam glares at him halfway down the road out of Gunnison, telling him to pull the car over so he can drive. He lets Sam take the keys from him, exhaustion hitting harder than it has in a long time; he’s not sure when he last slept, seems like when he closes his eyes all that happens is those few moments of Cas coming through being replayed over and over again. Holy fire flickering, reflecting in Cas’ eyes, the pain in his voice, how Dean couldn’t convince him to fight, how Dean—.

How he lost Cas. Again.

It’s worse this time, at least with Lucifer Dean knew he’d keep Cas alive, out of some kind of vague sentimentality if nothing else; Dean doesn’t know what the hell Amara’s going to do with him—though he can hazard several, painful, guesses—she wants Lucifer, God, above all else, Cas is nothing more than collateral damage.

“Dean,” Sam says, glancing over at him. “You should get some sleep.”

“M’fine.” Dean shifts in the seat, his head banging against the window where he’d apparently slumped down. “Really.”

Sam sighs. “You know, sleep deprivation kills.”

“I’ve trained for this, Sammy.”

“Your eyes are closed.”

“No they’re not,” Dean says, eyes snapping open, grunting when the light hits his eyes. “I don’t—.” Straightening up, Dean rubs his eyes with his palms, regretting it when dirt from the mine scratches against his skin. “I can’t sleep,” he says quietly, a confession that he’s not sure he wants Sam to hear. “If I sleep all I see is—”

“Cas.”

“Yeah.”

Sam hasn’t switched any music on, and it’s so early there’s barely any cars out. The silence is overwhelming, Dean’s got a churning in his gut, and the only thing stopping him from throwing up is the sheer effort it would require.

“Do you—”

“What is there to talk about? Cas is probably being ripped to shreds by Amara right now, we have nothing, and I can’t— _fuck_.” Dean sucks in a breath in an attempt to wake himself up, blinking rapidly and ignoring the worried look Sam is sending him. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Sam protests, turning back to the road. Miles of road pass underneath the wheels of the Impala before, and Dean’s still fighting to stay awake when Sam shifts in the seat the way he did when he was a kid and wanted to ask something. “Do you think Jesse and Cesar will manage to stay out?” he asks, eventually.

And there’s a subject Dean doesn’t even want to touch. He’s happy for them, going through something like that, all those years of loss, finding each other, and getting the damn cliche riding off into the sunset ending, he is, but—.

Fuck. Dean wants that. Maybe not a ranch in New Mexico, but a future, outside of hunting, somewhere to set up home with—with Cas. That’s the knife to the heart that has Dean ignoring what Sam’s asked, has him wanting to curl into a ball like a three year old and ignore the world around him, because everything comes back to Cas.

Dean’s never let himself think of a future, even with Lisa it felt like a holding pattern, like waiting for the other shoe to drop because it always does, and it did with her, in spectacular fashion. Cas, though, he—there’s no shoe to drop. All the shoes have already dropped, have smacked Dean in the face more than once, and Cas is still in his life, is still the Cas that blew out windows in some dusty gas station trying to communicate with Dean all those years ago.

That pretty much set the tone for their communication skills, Dean thinks, because they’ve never really been great at it. Seven years on and it crushes Dean that Cas thought he wasn’t useful, that he thought he _had_ to be useful to be a part of Dean’s life. If Dean had just—he doesn’t even know what he would’ve said, how he would’ve said it, but he wishes he had, because not knowing if he’s ever going to get the chance to is worse than anything.

“Dean?”

“Hmm?”

“Jesse and Cesar? You think they’ll stay out of the business?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, fingers running against his thigh in an attempt to stay awake. “They’ve got a reason to. Think they’ll keep each other out.”

“You ever think about it?”

“Living in New Mexico?”

“Retiring. Settling down.”

Dean groans, attempting to pull the sleeves of his jacket over his hands. “This again?”

“It’s a question.”

“Sam, I don’t—I can’t think past getting Cas back, man. That’s, I don’t know, ask me again when I know he’s alive.”

“What about—”

“Don’t.”

“Dean, you don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“I’ve got a pretty good idea,” Dean says, closing his eyes. “I’m not raising horses with Cas in New Mexico.”

“I wasn’t gonna—”

“Yes you were.”

There’s a huff from Sam, and Dean would swear he can hear him narrowing his eyes. “You can have a life, you know.”

“I have a life.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, and I know it don’t mean shit if I lose Cas before I get that life, so drop it.”

“So you do want Cas.”

“I’ve been awake for a week, Sam, nothing I’m saying is admissible.”

“We’re not in court.”

“Shut up,” Dean grumbles, tilting his head towards the window and opening his eyes. He’s not sure if he’s ever been so eager to get back home before, but home is where the books are, the only chance Dean even has of trying to save Cas, and that’s—nine hours it’s going to take them to get back. Yeah, they did some good here, but that’s time taken away from trying to save Cas, and the guilt of that weighs on Dean like an anvil. Hell, maybe Sam’s right, maybe saving people here is going to throw them the karma they need to save Cas; Dean would like to believe that, believe that they deserve some good after all the bad. He’d also like a million bucks and a never ending supply of bullets, but he sure as hell hasn’t got either of those things.

“Would you leave the bunker?” Sam asks, and Dean’s on the verge of taping Sam’s mouth shut, because, yeah, he’s thought about it. Thought about retirement, about not coming home with aching muscles and new scars, about the worst thing in his life being the price of bread going up instead of celestial beings trying to end the world. And, in the centre of those thoughts, is Cas; Cas curled in an armchair with a book, Cas working in the garden they could have, Cas first thing in the morning all grumpy and guzzling coffee, but smiling when Dean kisses him.

It’s an ache that’s bigger than his heart, it takes over his entire body, and Dean’s been living with it so long, he’s not sure what he’d do if he ever managed to get the thing that would erase it, if he managed to get that life.

“Thought you wanted me to sleep,” Dean says, fiddling with his phone, scrolling through the pictures he’s got saved on there, pausing when one of Cas pops up; it’s from when they were with Claire, just before they sent her on her way to Jody. Objectively, it’s not a very good photo, there’s some glare from the sun and Cas is squinting at the camera, slightly exasperated with Dean, but it’s _Cas_ , and Cas hasn’t been Cas for so long that Dean—.

His hands start to tremble as he continues staring at the photo, and he’s only a little sure that it’s to do with exhaustion as opposed to emotions. The screen dims and Dean touches it, Cas’ face appearing once again, and it’s stupid, really, because this is it, this is all Dean has; if Cas—if he lost Cas, all he’d have are a handful of memories and this photo. It’s not enough, not for the impact Cas has had on him, not for how much Dean—and how pathetic is he that he struggles to say the words in his own head? “ _Fuck_ ,” he breathes out, the heaviness in his bones making everything feel surreal, his head swimming with too many thoughts crashing together.

“What?”

Dean laughs softly to himself. “I love Cas,” he says, the screen of his phone going black, and he closes his eyes, not wanting to see Sam’s reaction.

“Okay,” is all Sam says, and Dean wonders if Sam knew already. Not that it matters; if he can’t get Cas back, if he can’t tell him to his face then it doesn’t matter who knows because Cas doesn’t know. If he knew, if he understood, then they wouldn’t be in this fucking situation in the first place, and that’s something else to feel guilty about; there were so many chances before this to tell Cas how much he wanted him around, and Dean missed all of them. Could never get it together long enough to say a few fucking words that would’ve stopped this damn thing before it started.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“We’ll get Cas back,” Sam says. “You know that, right?”

There’s no way Dean can answer that, because he doesn’t know, and that’s what’s killing him. He can hope, he can wish, but the only thing he really knows how to do is fight, and right now there’s nothing to fight. Dean’s left feeling useless, twisting in the wind, wanting Cas back being the only thing keeping him going, and in his darkest moments he wonders if that’s ever going to happen, if he hasn’t lost Cas already.

“We’re getting him back,” Sam says again, more firmly this time. “It’s time something worked out for us.”

Dean snorts, half asleep, but maybe—maybe Sam’s right; that they do deserve a life, a future, one damn thing going right for them after all the shit that has been thrown at them. If he manages to get Cas back, maybe he’ll start to believe. Hell, if he gets Cas back, he’ll work on opening that B&B in Vermont with him; mints on the pillow, baking pies in the kitchen, the whole fucking cliche.

Chest tightening, Dean turns his head away from Sam and ignores the sting of tears that he can feel coming. “Yeah,” he says quietly, visions of B&B ownership being replaced with the now familiar visions of Cas being tortured by Amara. “Maybe it is time.”


End file.
